


Nicknames, and a thing for dominance

by Goombella123



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, i dont know how to tag this, i dont think this even has a plot, i guesS??????, teen and up because yuri has a little bit of a potty mouth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 19:00:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8908252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goombella123/pseuds/Goombella123
Summary: because Yuri doesn't have friends off of the ice, and he still can't work out what to call that Something





	

**Author's Note:**

> ok to preface: this fic was me trying to work out how to write their personalities, and by now it's old as balls and sorely in need of a rewrite
> 
> i mean enjoy it anyway but keep that in mind

They’d met, of course, the day before the Grand Prix Final in Barcelona. Otabek had appeared out of nowhere to save Yuri from his ‘fans’- deranged stalkers, more like. They chose to invade every part of Yuri’s life where they could, and personally, he disliked them for it. As an athlete, he appreciated their support, but…

 

He wasn’t used to people wanting to care about him. Not when he was off the ice.

 

Until Otabek.

 

It was cliché and dumb- and god, it felt so fucking cheesy when he thought about it- but it was almost destiny that Beka was there that day, to look at Yuri like they weren’t strangers and tell him to get on the _goddamn_ bike. They’d tore down the road, Yuri’s fangirls screeching and snapping photos of them as they left. By sunset, they’d stopped at a public park. It was nearing empty now that it was getting dark, streetlamps beginning to flicker to life and hum. As Otabek had parked and dismounted his bike, Yuri had followed him- his face blank, and instructions wordless.

 

“Yuri Plisetsky had the eyes of a soldier.” Otabek had said cryptically, his eyes cast over Barcelona from the building’s rooftop. They’d met over 5 years ago, he’d explained, at Yakov’s ballet camp- and Yuri had remembered absolutely none of it. Otabek’s eyes lingered a little too long as the wind blew Yuri’s bangs out of his face. He couldn’t help but stare, too- _something_ beginning to form between them.

 

How long had Yuri been missing out on it?

 

“Are we going to be friends or not?” 

 

At any other time, Yuri would have scoffed. He didn’t have ‘friends’. He was tempted to reject him.

 

But he didn’t. Because something in his gut told him it would be wrong.

 

And Yuri normally didn’t listen to his gut on these things, but the atmosphere there was nice. Otabek was nice. Everything about that day had been… nice, to put it succinctly.

 

And then, there was the question of that _something_ that wove it’s way between them so quickly- into their ease of conversation, and the way Otabek looked at Yuri. Looked at him the way people looked at Yuri when he skated, except he was off the ice and doing nothing but being himself, eating or chatting or being stubborn, or lazing around on the couch. It was special, that _something_ in Otabek’s eyes. It was frustrating that Yuri couldn’t name it.

 

So he shook Otabek’s hand that day. Held it a little longer than necessary.

 

He didn’t want to ruin it, this _something_ he felt potential for. He didn’t want to miss out on it.

 

Whatever _it_ was.

 

 

\---

 

 

Otabek preferred to listen, Yuri found. Which was fine with him, since Yuri preferred to talk.

 

“We were literally children when you met me.” He said casually, as a way of striking up conversation in Otabek’s snug, sleek apartment kitchen. Not that he minded the quiet- Yuri just felt like chatting.

 

The older boy hums and raises an eyebrow over his pastry, halfway in his mouth and crumbling.

 

“Your point?” He says, cupping a hand under his chin to catch the flakes.

 

“Back in Barcelona, you said I had the eyes of a soldier. I was a baby.” Yuri snorts a little, though Otabek doesn’t seem to find the humour. He sees what Yuri is getting at, though, and he finishes his bite before he speaks.

 

“If anything, that’s even more of a compliment.” He says calmly. “You seemed like a strong person, even as a child.” 

He earns a quiet splutter from Yuri this way, as the boy went to take a sip of his tea. It burnt his lip a little, and he hissed.

 

“We met like a month ago.” Yuri deflects.

 

“Two months.” Otabek corrects.

 

And what a hellish kind of two months those were. Yuri’s ankles still screamed in protest whenever he walked too far, from the Grand Prix Final and from the training afterwards.

 

Yakov and Lilia were practically forcing Yuri to take a break for his health’s sake. And truthfully, Yuri had wanted it- if only to spend some time with Beka. It was better than option 2, which involved two weeks of trying to block out whatever disgusting romantic shit Pork Cutlet Bowl and Viktor were doing in Japan.

 

Besides, Yuri had never been to Kazakhstan.

 

“Two months, then. Unless you want to count 5 years ago.” Yuri grumbles.

 

Otabek shakes his head, lifting his pastry to his mouth again “Doesn’t count. You didn’t remember me.” He says, taking another bite.

 

Yuri scrunches up his nose, shifting his mug in his hands. “You sound kind of offended when you put it like that.” He mumbles.

 

Otabek tilts his head. “Oh, I’m not.” He replies. His flippant air is uncharacteristic “I never expected you to, honestly.”

 

Yuri examines his face for a moment from across the kitchen table.

 

“…You were hoping I would.” He tests him.

 

Otabek stares right back. Like he’s thinking of what to say, and Yuri knows he’s the kind of person who holds every word to great importance.

 

“…You had a big impact on me.” He says finally.

 

He’s flattered, but then Yuri cringes, and opens his mouth.

 

“-Don’t apologize.” Beka interrupts him. Yuri doesn’t stop, though, voice raised a little in protest.

 

“Why didn’t you talk to me earlier, then? I would have remembered.” Not like Yuri had anything else going on in his life. Not outside skating, anyway. He could have made time. His grandpa would have liked Beka.

 

Oh.

 

Beka.

 

B-e-k-a.

 

That… was new.

 

Beka was silent for a while, hunched over a little as he chewed on another pastry in thought. This was, what, his fourth sweet? Huffing, Yuri stood from the table and circled around it to reach the older boy.

 

“Stop eating those.” he chides him.

 

Otabek pretends to ignore him.

 

“Otabek” Yuri says, growling close to his ear. He leans closer in the hopes of being threatening. He’s not sure what actual effect he’s having on him, since Otabek doesn’t respond again.

 

So Yuri opts to snatch the pastry out of his hand in retaliation. Beka’s head whips around at that, and Yuri glares at him smugly. He makes a small noise of protest and tries to get his pastry back, but to no avail- Yuri has Beka’s wrist in his grip.

 

“You’re gonna get fat.” Yuri snickers at him.

 

“Don’t care.” Otabek responds, stalwart.

 

“Answer my question.”

 

“No.” Says Beka.

 

Yuri snorts at his defiance, and lifts the pastry to his lips. He locks eyes with Otabek, and flashes him a teasing grin.

 

“Beka~” he croons, stretching his name out like a song.

 

And Yuri’s not sure whether it was the nickname or the tone of voice he used, but at the sound of his voice, Otabek’s body shifts, and he _gasps_.

 

 _Something_ snaps between them.

 

Like a hot iron, Yuri detaches himself from Otabek, and the boy visibly unclenches. He relinquishes his pastry hostage to Otabek, and the older boy eats the whole thing in one bite.

 

Yuri snorts at him in disgust.

 

“Don’t be a Pig.”

 

Otabek practically grins at him.

 

“Shall I change my name to Yuuri Katsuki then?” he replies, quick and sharp as a thumbtack.

 

Though it wasn’t quite his name, Yuri likes the way the syllables roll naturally off Beka’s tongue- except for the pig’s last name, which ended up mangled by his accent. Yuri laughs at his wit, and at the mispronunciation. Otabek chuckles with him.

Though the laughter stops when he goes to reach for a fifth pastry from the packet.

 

“Nyet!” Yuri yells as he slaps at Beka’s hand, and before he can protest, he takes the box and lifts it over his head.

 

Otabek groans, and tries to stand to reach him- but Yuri is nimble, and he darts to the longue room with the pastries, and pokes his tongue out.

 

“No more pastry for you!” he shouts, squatting like a gremlin.

 

Otabek sighs and follows him.

 

“Just one-“

 

“No.”

 

“-Yuri.”

 

“No!”

 

“Yurotchka?” Otabek tries. Yuri stops to register the nickname, and he laughs, though it comes out more like a cackle.

 

“Nice try! Only my family calls me that.” He sneers, dancing victoriously on the edges of his feet.

 

“Yura.” Otabek tries instead.

 

And that makes Yuri freeze.

 

And god, there’s that _something_ again. That _something_ that snapped before in Otabek when Yuri called him Beka aloud. It snapped, and it’s humming between them, burning, whatever. Jesus Christ, it was only a nickname.

 

Otabek was inching closer, hands reaching up for the pastry box. Yuri notices and places it on the couch behind him, holding his breath in anticipation.

 

Otabek saw the way Yuri froze, he’s sure, because he pitches his voice dangerously low and _purrs_.

 

“Yuuura.”

 

But he’s prepared for it, so Yuri doesn’t miss a beat.

 

“Beka.” He says right back, in the exact same tone of voice.

 

They’re ridiculously close now, nose-to-nose, to the point of being light headed. Otabek’s still trying to grab for the pastries though- thinking Yuri was distracted, no doubt, but he should have known better. Yuri makes a grab for Otabek’s hands for the second time that afternoon. He doesn’t miss the way Beka’s breath stops again, either. He grins over the older boy. Beka’s eyes go wide.

 

“Answer my question, Beka.”

 

Otabek stares into Yuri’s face, a thousand things running through his head.

 

“Which question?” he responds. His voice barely carries through what little air is left between them.

 

Yuri licks his lips, suddenly dry from the tension. He takes a chance, goes out on a limb and that feeling of _something_ and brushes a loose strand of hair from Otabek’s face. He’s surprised to find his own breath hitching as he does so, but Beka’s expression makes it worth it.

 

“All those years ago.” He murmurs, his free hand coming to rest on Otabek’s shoulder. “Why didn’t you just… talk to me? Am I that intimidating?”

 

Otabek inhales.

 

“You are right now.” He says quietly.

 

And Yuri is drinking in every moment of it.

 

His grip tightens on Otabek, instincts swirling through his body and clogging his brain for every bated breath he took. He angles his head a little, and that _something_ between them starts to take on an almost solid form. He’s practically whispering into his mouth;

 

“…Good.”

 

And then-

 

The phones rings, and Yuri curses in Russian. As soon as it appeared, that _something_ vanishes.

 

“I’ll get it.” Otabek says quickly, and Yuri releases him without even asking. He’s immediately back to being calm and collected, and it’s almost a shame in Yuri’s mind. Whatever just happened was delicious, he thinks, and he watches Otabek leave with bitterness.

 

…Delicious?

 

Jesus Christ. Gross.

 

Yuri replaces the thought immediately by grabbing the bakery box, and stuffing a pastry in his beet-red face.

 

…

 

 _Beka_.

 

A new development. They had nicknames for each other. And he fucking loved it when Beka used his.

 

 _Yura_.

 

An even better development. Beka felt the exact same way about him.

 

 _Why didn’t you just talk to me?_ Yuri asked, and Beka had avoided giving an answer.

 

But by the blush on his face, by his breath hitching and heart beating faster, by the way he went almost limp and let his eyes hood half-closed in Yuri’s grip-

 

Yuri doesn’t need an answer.

 

He's closer to working out that _something_ , and it seems like a pretty good guess.

**Author's Note:**

> yall keep making yuri submissive like fuck dude?? really??
> 
> anyway. 
> 
> i just kind of. wrote this. without a plan. or an idea really.
> 
> i hope you enjoyed it anyway?


End file.
